The first step is admitting you have a problem.

The support group sits in a circle on hard plastic chairs. The room is too small for the group and so the back of my chair leans against the small table the coffee paraphernalia sits on. Every time I move the table rattles and then everybody turns to look at me; I shrug and smile awkwardly.

Keeping as still as I can, I watch as each person in the circle stands and introduces themselves. We answer all at once “Hello,” – Insert name here.

Everybody’s story is the same as mine, with one variation or another. I sip at my coffee and listen to others telling my story one at a time.

They say, “I started when I was too young to know any better”

They say, “I had no choice”

They say, “Things just didn’t turn out how I expected”

Then all eyes are on me. For a moment I think I’ve knocked the table of coffee again, but it’s my turn to speak, to admit my problem. I can’t quit anytime, I don’t have control, I need help to rid myself of this horrible affliction.

The first step is admitting you have a problem. The second step is to come to terms with your illness and the fact you have no control over it.

All eyes are on me. Their stories are the same as mine and yet I feel them judging me.

I stand, “Hi, My name is Jeremy,” I say “and I want to be a writer”

“Hi Jeremy,” they sing in a solemn chorus.

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